


The Trap

by GloriaMundi



Category: Snow White (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-04
Updated: 2009-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Queen sits before her mirror, staring into the reflected world, looking for something that isn't herself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trap

The room is singingly, skin-shrinkingly cold: there's snow outside, white, blank, the path to the bridge invisible and unfootprinted.

The Queen sits before her mirror, staring into the reflected world, looking for something that isn't herself.

_Mirror, mirror, on the wall ..._

The mirror is silent. It tells her nothing. But not everything is told in words. She sees the tower of glass rising across the river, the winding vines green against whirling snow and white sky, the tapestries heavy against the draughts that creep between the panes, and something new: someone new.

There is a man in the princess's chamber.

His is a face she does not know, a strong weathered face seamed by sun and wind, seamed too by cold metal that's drawn a line from cheek to chin. His head is bare; his hair is fox-coloured. His eyes are blue as bitterness. He's leaning over the bier where the princess sleeps, watching her chest rise and fall with her breath, watching the skin of her throat flutter with the slow beat of her sleeping heart.

The queen's heart pulses quicker.

His skin is very brown against the princess's. His peasant's hand sports a prince's gold and sapphire. He's bending towards the sleeping girl, and as she breathes in (as the queen watches the fall and rise of her chest, the curve of her small breasts beneath the ornate whitework) he breathes out: and so she breathes him in, like an animal learning the scent of its master.

The queen does not breathe at all as the man's head lowers, as his hand slides down across skin and embroidered silk, as his mouth -- surely his mouth is on the princess's, surely his breath expirates directly into her lungs, surely her lips are parting to his penetrating tongue.

There is, now, a bloom of palest pink beneath her translucent skin.

In the cold room, the queen leans forward, her forehead pressing against the icy glass that keeps her from what's occurring beyond, in the glass tower at the other end of the path. Her breath comes fast, but does not mist the glass, does not hide anything that's happening. Beneath her rich red velvet robe, she's sweating, she's wet, she's taut with longing.

Because the man's hand's found its way beneath embroidery, teasing flushing flesh; his mouth's working on the princess's, her head tilted back against his other hand. A war in miniature plays out for the queen. A pirate plundering the maiden's mouth, an army marching across her skin, a king claiming his land. There's gold glinting through the thin silk of the princess's bodice; there's gold glinting in the man's mouth as he raises it, grinning, from the princess's reddened lips.

The bier's high and narrow, made to lure not to lull: he pulls the girl down to the floor, not bothering to spread his coat between her and the bare stone, not bothering to unlace the bodice but snapping the laces like harpstrings. Her white skirts ruck around his knees, and he hitches them higher one-handed, his other hand unbuttoning his breeches.

The bier, the tower, the sleeping girl: the queen arranged them all, set them as bait, incitement, temptation. She cannot _not_ watch, cannot turn away, cannot penetrate the glass to be there in the warmth. She can only watch (she can only _want_) as, soundless, the girl's despoiled, ravished, sullied. Woken.

It's over too quickly.

Then the man's rising, rebuttoning, looking down on the princess as she gasps and gulps, her lips shaping words that only he can hear. Astonishing: the girl is smiling. More astonishing: he's smiling back, and gold is glimmering everywhere like rain in spring.

He holds out a hand to help her stand. This, the queen has no desire to watch. This she can turn away from; turn away from the laughter, aftermath, play's end; turn away from the sprung trap.


End file.
